


a little later on

by pixiepower



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barebacking, Boys in Skirts, Comeplay, Crossdressing, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings Realization, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Wet & Messy, imperfect sex for perfect weirdos, known anime enthusiasts joshua hong and jeon wonwoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower
Summary: If this were an anime, Wonwoo’s glasses would be fogging up, and Joshua would gasp and whine before Wonwoo even gets his hands on him. But this is Wonwoo in his bedroom in his messy mop of curls and Joshua’s hands disappearing in the too-long sleeves of Wonwoo’s sweater and a silence heavier than Joshua’s weighted blanket, and it’s already so much better than he could have imagined.
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Jeon Wonwoo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 160





	a little later on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [skateboardachoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skateboardachoo/gifts).



> title from “simple and clean” by utada hikaru.
> 
> i truly don’t know what to say. this well and truly may be the wackest thing i have ever written. by all means confirm or deny per your evaluation as you see fit. love you, ria!!!

The material is cheap, but Joshua feels expensive anyway.

He never understood what people meant when they said that makeup, clothes, and style made them feel strong; watching Mingyu spend hours on his hair and his outfits just to giggle at Seungcheol until he was blushing hard enough to be seen from space never made sense, especially considering Seungcheol would readily fall over himself for Mingyu without all the extra anyway.

It just seems like a lot of effort, with reward that’s all but guaranteed even without it. Maybe too much effort, especially for Joshua, who isn’t exactly at a loss for attention as it stands.

That is, until Joshua found himself freshly showered and prepped, pulling long white socks up high, thick accent stripes stretched over his thighs, and scooting in close to the mirror leaned against the wall to apply winged eyeliner and mascara, eyes wide for fear of blinding himself with the little wand. 

He kind of gets it now.

Blinking to let his eyes remoisten, Joshua is struck by how  _ pretty _ he looks up close like this. He stares at his reflection, sinking his teeth into his lips to flood them with a little more pinkness, then parting them wetly, tilting his head back, sitting back on his heels, and fluttering his eyelashes experimentally.

It’s a shame that his shoulders tug the seams of the serafuku a little too tight over his chest. He wrestles with a stiff torso just to fetch his phone, hearing threads snap as he settles back into place, legs askew like a fawn and skirt fanned out primly over his lap. The uniform shirt is literally bursting at the seams, buttons straining in the middle of his chest, and Joshua wants to laugh. But he doesn’t; instead he tilts his face down to highlight his full mouth, letting the sunlight from the window cast him in gold. The socks are glowing bright white in the light like ghosts. He looks ridiculous, but also—

He looks hot.

Joshua is glimmering with confidence in his selcas, a wide variety of tasteful mirror pictures steadily filling up his camera roll. Repositioning himself on the rug, he twists to glance over his shoulder and evaluate himself from behind, until he hears an ominous  _ kzzzh,  _ finally acknowledging that his shoulders and chest may be too mighty for this one-size uniform when the buttons tear off the front and one of the shoulders unravels at the seam.

Fucking Aliexpress lets Joshua down again.

So, fine. It’s not a well-thought-out idea, to be honest. Few sex ideas are, but that’s no reason not to do it.

While he yanks the top off the rest of the way and stares at himself half-naked in a tennis skirt and thigh-high socks, Joshua can’t find the energy to regret it. He told himself when he clicked  _ purchase  _ that this would be funny, that it would at least be a story to tell one day, but the second he zipped up the skirt, zipper shrouded by the plaid pattern, he knew he meant it more than he had intended.

Almost everything Joshua does is couched in at least a little irony, if not a thick fog of it, but he knows deep down that’s just to disguise the fact that he actually wants them genuinely — to be seen as a sex object sometimes, to feel powerful, to be pretty, to make Wonwoo happy.

And that’s what this is really all about: Jeon Wonwoo, who drives Joshua up the wall, who knows exactly what buttons to push to get a reaction out of Joshua. Jeon Wonwoo, who appeared suddenly in Joshua’s life like the stray cat you fed once on the way home from work and then accidentally let inside your apartment because you didn’t know it was following you and now surprise, jackass!, you own a cat now, figure it out!, except if a stray cat were an idiot  _ way _ too hot to be wearing a Naruto shirt in the club with no sense of irony whatsoever, who maybe jacked you off in the bathroom and then rinsed his glasses in the sink because his shirt was “too sweaty to clean them,” but then you find out one real date later that he just didn’t want to give away the fact that a) he  _ had _ a microfiber cleaning cloth but he lost it and was too ashamed to admit it to a stranger whose dick he saw in fluorescents thirteen minutes after saying hello, and b) he is, beyond all reasonable expectation, in possession of fucking  _ washboard _ abs.

Joshua is obsessed with him.

They’ve been dating for about seven months now, and Wonwoo has stayed late at work all week, so Joshua bribed Soonyoung to leave the door unlocked for him and has holed away in Wonwoo’s room on his compensatory half day, rolling up the waistband of his skirt to shorten it a few fingers and staring at the warm strip of skin above his socks. But now he has a conundrum to deal with.

Shirtless is one move, but it does throw the balance of the outfit off, leaning less “Wonwoo’s bookmarks” and more “the 7 total non-consecutive minutes of the first Magic Mike movie that aren’t about the entrepreneurial spirit of carpentry.”

The sound of the front door unlocking and Soonyoung hooting out of his bedroom on the other side of the apartment accelerates the decision process profoundly. Joshua has always (read: rarely) been good under pressure, so he drops to his knees and grabs Wonwoo’s hoodie off the floor, yanks it on, and hastily tucks it into the skirt in the front, giving himself a cursory glance in the mirror to ensure his waist still looks small.

Breath is barely catching up to him when Wonwoo opens his bedroom door, his hollered, “—I promise you Tom Nook does not give a fuck, I’ll get changed and then I’ll show you, Soon-ah,” tapering out into nothingness when he turns and lays eyes on Joshua, body arranged delicately on the plush rug Mingyu bought Seungkwan who regifted it to Wonwoo the following Christmas.

He’s up on his knees, socks stretched taut over his thighs, and he watches Wonwoo’s eyes trace over him, recognition hitting him in waves, a riptide tearing him asunder. Sweater, a long sigh. Skirt, jaw hanging slack. Thigh-high socks, mouth opening and closing like the cat video they like so much.

“Jesus Christ,” Wonwoo breathes, throat clicking when he swallows, and it’s exactly what Joshua wants: Wonwoo’s gaze is heavy and his words are sacrilegious and all of it is weighty with desire. What’s more, all of it is for him.

Joshua lets his knees fall apart, sucking his lower lip into his mouth when Wonwoo’s eyes find the flutter of the skirt, demure at the apex of his thighs.

He doesn’t need to ask,  _ Do you like it?  _ It’s obvious from the way Wonwoo closes the door behind himself, drops his bag at his feet, and runs a hand through his hair that he likes it. He’s not blinking. Joshua squirms under the intensity of his stare.

If this were an anime, Wonwoo’s glasses would be fogging up, and Joshua would gasp and whine before Wonwoo even gets his hands on him. But this is Wonwoo in his bedroom in his messy mop of curls and Joshua’s hands disappearing in the too-long sleeves of Wonwoo’s sweater and a silence heavier than Joshua’s weighted blanket, and it’s already so much better than he could have imagined.

There’s plenty of time for all the whimpering, anyway.

“Hi.” Joshua’s voice is light, and he might be embarrassed by the breathiness if there weren’t a zip of pride going up his spine at the way Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate, just takes three long-legged steps and drops to his knees between Joshua’s spread thighs.

“What is this?” Wonwoo asks, voice low and hot and wary of looking gift horses in the mouth.

Joshua flutters his eyelashes. “Yours.”

Wonwoo’s lips part, and five different expressions cross his face as he decides what to say next. Joshua can practically hear the Yu-Gi-Oh card tucked between the spokes as the wheels spin inside Wonwoo’s brain, and he feels a smirk spread over his own face at rendering him speechless. That is, until Wonwoo yanks his shirt off by the back of the collar, presses one hand to the mattress behind Joshua, pushes his knee up to nudge at Joshua’s dick, and uses his free hand to snap the band of one of Joshua’s thigh-high socks against his leg.

_ “Ngh!”  _ Joshua lets out a strangled noise, socked knees digging into the carpet as he grinds against Wonwoo’s thigh, throwing his head back.  _ “Mnh,  _ Wonwoo!”

“You look pretty,” Wonwoo says, hand hot on Joshua's upper thigh, and it sounds like filth.

“D’look prettier riding you,” Joshua manages in lieu of the soft  _ thank you  _ that almost slips out.

Wonwoo chases it with a crushing kiss, all teeth and tongue and  _ missed you today. _ The kiss says  _ thank you,  _ too, before he pulls back with a wet smack and actually says, “If that’s on the table we should be doing that.”

“You want to fuck me on the table? Sexy.”

Laughing, Wonwoo rubs his knee over Joshua again, the smooth material of his work pants gliding over his bare dick. Joshua’s matching laughter chokes into a needy melody, bitten back in a decrescendo lest he give himself away too easily.

“Are you not wearing anything?” sounds less like an accusation and more like a marvel in Wonwoo’s soft voice. “Fuck, Shua.”

“Wish you would,” Joshua bites out, grinding over the length of Wonwoo’s thigh. He’s been a little on edge ever since he ripped open the package and used a hair straightener to iron out the folds, ever since he opened himself up on three fingers in the shower, ever since he saw Wonwoo at the club seven months ago and ditched Jeonghan first for once.

“Fine by me,” says Wonwoo airily, running a finger under the sock band again and letting it snap back against Joshua’s inner thigh, grinning when Joshua whimpers and makes a faux-irritated face while he tries to stand up on wobbly Bambi legs.

He should have seen this coming, this potent mixture of sincere gratitude and insufferable smugness that comes with baring yourself like this to Wonwoo. It’s why Joshua tries not to make a habit of it. Catching him off guard is the only way to regain the upper hand, and being this far ahead of Wonwoo in desperation is not in Joshua’s favor. He probably should have worn underwear. In hindsight, that would have possibly helped.

Wonwoo makes it back into a standing position first, and Joshua gazes up at him, arranging his features into something big-eyed and innocent that makes Wonwoo look down at him and swear under his breath. Pride and lust settle in the pit of Joshua’s stomach as he spreads his thighs so Wonwoo can see the socks, sweater-pawed hands gentle in his lap as he noses up the side of Wonwoo’s zipper, mouthing at the seam where he’s filled out, cock straining already.

Maybe he’s not so far ahead of Wonwoo after all.

Once Wonwoo’s pants are off it’s familiar territory, and Joshua plays it up, dragging his mouth sweetly over Wonwoo’s balls, letting Wonwoo’s cock rest against the crown of his cheek, sticking out his tongue more than strictly necessary just to blink up at Wonwoo with fluttering eyelashes as he sinks down on him, humming and moaning and letting out the ugly, exaggerated dick-sucking noises that get Wonwoo so hot and bothered. He’s big, but not unmanageable for someone who likes to practice as much as Joshua does, and anyway, a little theatricality never hurt anyone. Every few minutes Joshua lets his throat close a little, a guttural choking sound accompanying the movement, and Wonwoo hisses, “Fuck,” one hand flying to the back of Joshua’s head and his hips stuttering like he’s trying not to lose control. 

Wonwoo’s thighs are tense, and he’s breathing hard already. He wants to fuck Joshua so bad. The mouthful of cock prevents a smirk, and he pulls back with a lewd smacking noise, Wonwoo’s dick dripping wet with spit and precome.

“Need you,” Joshua breathes, watching the glaze burn off Wonwoo’s eyes. “Need you to fill me up, Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo bites his lip so hard Joshua can see the skin go pale, then flood red again when he lets it go. “On the bed.”

Joshua’s knee joints crack when he stands, finally, and the sound is echoed by a swift smack to his ass the moment he settles on all fours, propped up on his elbows to save his wrists.

_ “Iiya,”  _ Joshua whines, just to get a reaction out of Wonwoo.

He’s rewarded with a mean nip to his earlobe, teeth clacking on his probably non-nickel-free earrings, and hot hands sliding up the backs of his thighs.

“God, look at you,” Wonwoo groans. He flips up the back of Joshua’s skirt and pins it to the small of his back with one hand, his palm pressing the fabric over the thick band where Joshua had rolled it up at the waist. “Christ.”

Moments later, wet fingertips find Joshua’s hole, and two sink in with no warning, no preamble, and no resistance, just long fingers immediately curling into his prostate with a gross, wet sound and coaxing out a full-body tremor. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Joshua sighs, arching his back and balling up the extra fabric of his sleeves into his fists. “Oh!”

“Yeah?” Wonwoo repeats teasingly, the slick sound and wet feeling of more lube being poured over his hand as he presses in a third finger just underscoring the smug way he asks it.

Joshua says, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” a chant like prayer, sacrament taken kneeling, and if he weren’t already conflicted about what Hell looks like he might be worried. But he isn’t. Wherever he’s going, it’ll be by Wonwoo’s hand.

“You look so good like this,” Wonwoo murmurs, voice tender and honest, “Gonna take me so good.”

Joshua can’t resist the chance. “So  _ well.” _

He doesn’t need to see Wonwoo’s face to feel the eyeroll, and another slap to his ass elicits a shout that must be apology enough for him, because he pulls his fingers out and not two seconds later is bottoming out, stretching Joshua around his cock like he was made for it.

“Shit,” Wonwoo hisses, to which Joshua replies with a mostly fake high-pitched moan, trying to get some semblance of control back. Trying to remember if there was a game plan here.

Wonwoo’s slick hand wraps around one of Joshua’s thighs, sticky-wet on the bare skin just above his socks, spreading him open and yanking him back onto his cock, and Joshua’s affected, breathy hentai whines are now very much real.

Most of the time Joshua is content to let Wonwoo take the lead in bed, the feeling of being wanted and needed more than enough for him. The way Wonwoo makes sure Joshua falls apart before letting himself come undone is a language all its own, regardless of who’s doing what. It’s a low-risk, high-reward system, and both of them are easy, especially now that a lot of the club bathroom-type frenetic horny energy has worn off and they can just trade lazy kisses between laughter, discuss the latest episode of some show they’re watching as they fuck into each other’s fists, ponder what to get for dinner,  _ no,  _ not tteokbokki  _ again,  _ please, fuckin’—I’ll pay for pizza, Wonwoo, from the place you like all the way in—yeah, that’s good, oh, shit, right  _ there. _

It heightens occasions like this all the more, then, when Joshua is so desperate to feel Wonwoo, to hear him groan and make him come and do something  _ special,  _ that he can’t resist giving as good as he gets.

Gasping, Joshua pushes his hips back to meet where Wonwoo’s fucking into him, and even more than the zip of pleasure at the feeling of Wonwoo’s dick finding his prostate with every thrust is the full-body shudder that wracks him when he fucks himself back on it, needing more,  _ more, moremoremoremore.  _ He can only imagine what Wonwoo is seeing, watching his cock disappear into Joshua, back arched and squirming for it. Why aren’t they doing this facing the mirror again?

Wonwoo pauses to catch his breath, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the soft skin at the backs of Joshua’s thighs, and Joshua’s hips twitch and roll back, chasing the feeling, feeling uncharacteristically needy and not knowing why. 

“Fuck, hyung,” Wonwoo groans as he picks his pace back up, “Where’d my pillow princess go?” like it’s no problem if they never return.

It  _ melts _ through Joshua.

He hiccups, thighs shaking and digging his hands into the mattress for leverage to bounce back onto Wonwoo, meeting his relentless pace like it’s a walk in the park and not the sweatiest, most gut-churning marathon of his life. He’s absently glad he forewent the circle lenses and false eyelashes this time. They’d be hanging off his face, vision blurrier than it is right now, and there are some things you can’t come back from. As it is, he’s pretty sure mascara is running down his cheeks from all the tears, and that’s bad enough.

Something in him wishes he had the kind of relationship with his friends where he could talk about just how well his guts are getting rearranged, lawn furniture in a hurricane, and for all of them to make that too-knowing, surprised-but-admiring face when they see Wonwoo in his thick glasses and zip-up jacket at the bar. Joshua wants to brag to someone that his fake  _ ahegao _ is fully real now, that he’s drooling into the pillow and his eyes really are rolling back in his head because Wonwoo is fucking him depraved and delicious, because their baggage is something that goes together despite itself, because their repression is complementary and they can have this together.

It’s all Oreos and peanut butter. Joshua can’t convince anybody that it tastes good, not least because they won’t  _ try  _ it. (His mom has to send him the good peanut butter from the States and it weighs a million pounds and it’s totally fucking worth it.) Nobody else will ever get it, but there’s a feeling of home that his mouth can’t let go of.

Joshua craves it.

Wonwoo feels—like  _ that. _

Oh, shit. 

Struck with realization, Joshua laughs through a moan and pushes himself up with both arms. Wonwoo catches him around the waist, hand flat on Joshua’s stomach to help him fully sit up, which changes the angle and tears low groans from both of them, but also presses Joshua’s back against Wonwoo’s chest, lean and solid. It gives him the strength to plow through his hesitation.

His laughter is breathless, almost manic, and Wonwoo’s voice is low and warm in his ear. “Hyung?” sounds like deliverance in his buttery timbre.

“I’m wearing a skirt for sex because I love you,” Joshua laughs. The truth rings like church bells, bigger than him in this boundless, universal way. Simple and clean.

Swift and sharp like a reflex, Wonwoo’s hand presses down on Joshua’s stomach. It’s like he doesn’t mean to, pressure just the wrong side of too-hard, and it winds Joshua with a quiet  _ oof.  _ “Sorry. Sorry.” Wonwoo’s hips jerk, thrusting up into Joshua suddenly, and Joshua barks out a surprised noise, eyes blinking wide as he gasps, Wonwoo stammering an increasingly frantic, “Sorry! Sorry!”

“Wonwoo!”

“You can’t tell me you love me while I am balls deep in you dressed like this, it’s not fucking  _ fair,”  _ Wonwoo moans, fucking into Joshua again, stuttered and deep like he can’t help it. “Joshua, what the fuck!”

“You gonna say it back or do I have to hop off?”

In response, Wonwoo just makes an overwhelmed, strangled noise, hand splayed over Joshua’s ribs like he’ll float away without a tether. Laughter jitters through Joshua again, and he threads his fingers through Wonwoo’s at his stomach, squeezing them tightly before letting go and lifting himself off Wonwoo’s lap.

The feeling of stopping in the middle like this is unfamiliar, and the emptiness makes Joshua furrow his eyebrows for an uncomfortable second while he adjusts, but this is important, the significance only underscored by the way Wonwoo doesn’t ogle him when Joshua settles on his knees in front of him. His eyes are glued to Joshua’s face, flushed as it probably is, and Wonwoo’s whole face reads—

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

“There it is,” Joshua says, and it sounds like a joke but his cheeks ache from the speed with which a beatific smile splits open his face.

Wonwoo scrubs a hand over his face like this is a fever dream. It’s not, because Joshua knows what kind of fever dreams Wonwoo has, and they aren’t sexy, they’re more  _ sweat soaking through three hoodies in one day  _ and _ childhood events so warped in the brain you think the rabbit Bohyuk had as a kid is actually your mom, like, for real.  _ And Joshua would know, because last time Wonwoo was sick that badly Joshua called out of work for two days just to take care of him, and his mom walked him through her recipe for samgyetang over the phone.

That was probably some clue, huh.

“You did this for me?” Wonwoo asks, incredulous like the idea tastes odd but he threw away the package so he can’t check the expiration date. “Because you love me?”

Joshua laughs. “Surprise.”

Wonwoo pitches forward and kisses him, soft mouths fitting together like two slices of cheesecake in one container and you got jostled on the train and they melted together a little bit and now it’s one delicious frankencheesecake, and Joshua knows this shit can’t expire. Neither of them will let it.

“Did I ruin the mood?” Wonwoo jokes. 

Nigh impossible for them. Joshua is still somehow just as hard as he was when he was getting railed into the mattress. Ew. Is this what love is like?

“No. You’re still going to come all over me in this skirt because that’s the point,” Joshua purrs just to watch Wonwoo choke on his next breath and flounder to get back on his feet. 

But, of course, he does, in record time: “You bought it online and it cost like sixteen thousand won, huh?” Wonwoo’s lopsided grin is so hot. Fucking know-it-all.

Joshua bares his teeth and rolls his eyes. “I bought it online and it cost like sixteen thousand won,  _ yes,  _ which means I want you to get me all messy and come inside me,  _ please.”  _ The plea is pitched breathy and whiny, the  _ oppa  _ implied. (There are some lines Joshua will only cross with Wonwoo’s hand in his. They can discuss it.) It hits Wonwoo exactly where it was meant to, direct to the solar plexus and the dick, which even partially softened like this jerks and leaks precome like they never stopped fooling around. Joshua’s playful grimace turns into a full-blown smirk, and he runs a finger through the streak of wetness sliding down Wonwoo’s cock. “Exactly. He listens.”

“I’m going to veto anthropomorphizing my dick, I think,” Wonwoo says, strained.

“I guess I can manage that,” Joshua says, wrapping his hand around Wonwoo the same moment he surges in between his legs for another kiss. Maybe he’s been spending too much time watching romantic comedies with Jeonghan, but he swears this kiss tastes different.

The tackiness of the lube melts away a little with the warmth of Joshua’s hand,  _ shlick  _ sound smoothing out as Wonwoo pants into Joshua’s mouth, hand smacking against the bed searching for the lube bottle. His hands are clumsier than usual, which thrills Joshua, and they both groan when Wonwoo pours a far too liberal amount of lube over his cock, enough to make the sound when Joshua lifts himself up and sinks down on it in one movement disgusting and horrible and perfect.

Wonwoo sighs, legs relaxing under Joshua’s body where he bounces in Wonwoo’s lap, thighs flexing in his long socks and hard dick smearing into the underside of his skirt, and Wonwoo is looking at him like this is a million wet dreams come true. Joshua rides him harder, shoving his face into Wonwoo’s neck to stifle a smile, then tipping back again to try and get a better angle.

“Oh, my God, are your glasses actually fogging up?”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo pants, “You breathed on them.”

Joshua laughs derisively, swiveling his hips and huffing out a satisfied noise when he nudges Wonwoo into his prostate. “I  _ breathed  _ on them.”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo’s hands on Joshua’s knees slide up his thighs, pushing the material of the skirt up little by little until Joshua’s flushed dick is revealed, and even further. Both of Wonwoo’s hands grip Joshua’s waist hard, pinning the skirt to either side, and he leans up to kiss Joshua again, quick and sweet. “Fuckin’ love you,” he grins, planting his feet into the bed and fucking up into Joshua with determination.

“Oh, God,” Joshua grits out, rolling his hips down to meet Wonwoo’s punishing pace. “Love you, love you.”

And it’s weird, how everything feels the same, that in Wonwoo’s satisfied smile and ridiculous abs and glasses with sex-heat condensation absolutely hazing the edges Joshua feels the care and the compatibility that he always has. That he can clench around Wonwoo and make his mouth fall open on a gasp, shoot him a demure little smile, and get rewarded with a hand dripping with lube jerking him off hard and fast. 

“You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over your pretty skirt, hyung? Come on my cock and I’ll fill you up,” Wonwoo murmurs, nasty and loving and perfect.

Joshua keens, body shaking through his orgasm and whimpering into a sweater paw. Wonwoo’s slowed to a deep grind, and he smears Joshua’s come off his hand onto the material of his skirt, pumping in erratically a few more times before coming deep inside Joshua with a low groan. He’ll never admit how much he likes it, especially considering he just did. Joshua has standards. 

“Jesus, it’s so hot in here.” Joshua tries to tear off his sweater but gets tangled in the too-long arms, and literally falls off Wonwoo’s dick. The picture of grace. Elegance. Decorum. He is of no two minds about why Wonwoo is in love with him.

And predictably, Wonwoo comes to his rescue, pushing it off the rest of the way. When Joshua breaks into the oxygenated atmosphere again, Wonwoo meets him with a kiss and a scolding. “So, I would like to point out that you’re literally drenched in sweat and come, an environment as humid as Bangkok, yet it’s not realistic that my glasses fogged up. Interesting.”

_ “Yet it’s not realistic that blah blah,”  _ Joshua mocks, sticking out his tongue. “Whatever about the science. I’m just saying it’s kind of porny.”

“And you in a literal schoolgirl outfit isn’t?” Wonwoo bites at Joshua’s shoulder.

Joshua squeaks, pushing at Wonwoo, squealing, “Point fucking taken! Lay off!”

“Oh-ho.” Wonwoo’s grin spreads over his face like avocado on toast. “You  _ like  _ it. You think it’s hot too.”

“No!”

Wonwoo uses two fingers to swipe over Joshua’s hole, and Joshua’s stupid in-love horny brain-to-body communication system betrays him with a ragged, oversensitive moan. Wonwoo kisses Joshua’s cheek and wipes his hand off on Joshua’s defiled skirt. “Yes.”

Joshua huffs. “Whatever. You think because I love you or something you can get away with anything.”

“Nope, actually. I know because you love me I can get away with anything.” Wonwoo winks. His glasses are perfectly clear now.

Fucking know-it-all. Joshua presses his body to Wonwoo’s and kisses him, and it tastes like peanut butter in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> i refuse to believe that joshua hong has been conditioned out of liking peanut butter. do not fight me on this.
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/pixiepowerao3) and [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/)!


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